


Shooting

by Vashti (tvashti)



Series: One Line [2]
Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon-Typical Violence, Coping, Even if they were nice about it, Gen, International Friendship Song, Kidnapping, Off-screen Trauma, Pre-Series, Threats of Violence, Threats of Violence Against Children, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 15:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvashti/pseuds/Vashti
Summary: When you’re used to being a hammer, it’s not just problems that look like nails.





	Shooting

**Author's Note:**

> Please pay attention to the tags. There are threats of harm to children and references of past harm to children (although it's relatively benign). **If this is triggering to you, please stay away!** Fanfiction is no reason to put your mental health in jeopardy. If needed, leave a note in the comments and I'll give you a synopsis.
> 
> This was written sometime in 2006 as part of the FF100 challenge on Livejournal. So, yeah, it's old. I've done some minor editing for clarity and cleaning up poor translations, but it mostly hasn't been touched. Speaking of poor translations, I apologize for the French. It shouldn't be too bad, but that's no excuse.
> 
> Much thanks must be given to nikita31j7's and Jason of [La Femme Nikita Forever!](http://www.webring.org/l/rd?ring=s2syte;id=79;url=http%3A%2F%2Flfnforever%2Etripod%2Ecom%2F). They were super influential to this story when I wrote it.

Pulling his briefcase and laptop bag from the backseat of the car, Michael noted that Elena’s car was missing.  He mentally reviewed her schedule.  As far as he knew she hadn’t had any plans for the night.  Michael walked around the car and set his briefcase on the trunk of the black BMW.  Unlocking it, he pulled out his PDA. 

              No.  There were no plans that would take her and Adam from the house.  The operative trailing her hadn’t called in or uploaded any new intel.  And the lights were on. 

              Michael remembered, suddenly, that it had rained outside the city earlier in the day.  Elena moving the car was not an impossibility. She made sure there was enough room for at least one of their cars – the one most likely to be in residence.

              Satisfied that this was the most plausible reason for the missing car, Michael closed the briefcase and snapped the locks. He shifted the laptop bag still on his shoulder and picked up the briefcase. His keys, both house and car, had never left his hand.

              The house-key was turning in the lock when Adam’s unmistakable shriek cut the night air.

              He was standing inside the door, Glock in both hands. Nothing else registered. Except the woman on the floor growling over his son.

              Michael felt himself shutting down – felt doors closing. Already several steps ahead of himself, he had determined it would be best not to hide the body. That Adam would need intensive therapy.

              He stalked forward. He didn’t want the shot to go wide.

              Another shriek from Adam.

              Michael clicked off the safety. Wondered where Elena was.

              The hostile’s growl turned into a yelp. She/It rolled over. Inky straight hair fell over her face. 

              Adam blocked Michael’s shot. He shifted to give himself a clearer one.

              Then the picture before him resolved itself: the broad grin on Adam’s face, the half-curled fingers, the way the hostile beneath him trembled and shook convulsively, her high-pitched pleas for help interspersed with bright peals of laughter.

              “Give up?” Adam demanded.

              “Ne-Ne-Never! …Oh!” Laughter burst from her. Freeing one hand from under herself, she pushed dark hair out of her mouth and eyes.

              Michael knew the moment she saw him. He felt her fear zing between them. Then recognition chased the fear away. She would have spoken then, but Adam launched a new attack. Her head went down, breaking eye-contact, as helpless laughter spilled out of her.

              “Ada- Adam! S-Stop! Stop!  _ Hee hee! _ ”

              “You give up, Flor?”

              “Adam now –  _ hee hee hee  _ – isn’t the time.”

              “Surrender!” he cried.

              “I-I will—”

              “Ha!”

              She caught his nimble hands in her own. “As soon as you say hello to your  _ papa _ .”

              Adam looked down at her as if she had grown another head. Grip still firm around his little hands – he was trying to wriggle free – she turned her head and pointed with her chin.

              “Daddy!”

_ “Ooph!” _ The girl curled in around her midsection.

              The Glock had disappeared from Michael’s hands the moment the young woman looked away. He knelt down and caught his son in both arms. Standing, he saw the woman struggling to rise while clutching her middle.

              Hefting Adam so that the boy’s legs were wrapped around his waist, Michael turned to his son. “Look at what you did,” he said gently. He’d seen Adam step on the woman’s midsection as he jumped up. “Is that how you to treat a girl? What if it was Mommy?”

              “I’m sorry, Flor,” Adam apologized, looking rather contrite.

              The woman – no,  _ girl _ , Michael amended now that he could see her better – gave Adam a lopsided grin as she joined them in the hall just outside the family room. “That’s no problem, kiddo,” she said, jiggling his elbow. “I just won’t take any deep breaths for a little while.”

              “You forgive me?” he asked solemnly.

              “You betcha.”

              Michael braced himself as Adam leaned over to give the girl – Floor? Fleur? – a hug. He didn’t go to her, though Michael saw that she was ready to take him. Michael shifted as Adam settled himself along his father’s shoulder.

              “So, uh…” She pushed that straight, straight black hair out of her eyes.

              Simone had found it annoying, too.

              “You must be Mr. Samuelle,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Flora Leung. From down the street.” She shook his hand firmly, but quickly. “I’m the, uh, babysitter. Which you may have guessed.”

              Michael gave her a warm smile, trying to diffuse her nervousness. It didn’t.

              “Where is Elena?” he asked instead. “Do you know?”

              Fidgeting on her feet, she quickly shook her head no, then tucked her hair back behind her ear. “Mrs. Samuelle called my mom to see if I was available to sit on short notice but if she told Mom where she was going Mom didn’t tell me.”

              “I see,” Michael said as much in response to her answer as to the rapid-fire way she had delivered it.

              Flora colored. “I, uh… Sorry. I don’t really do well around strangers. Childhood trauma,” she added, rolling her eyes as if to say it was about as interesting as talking about her parents’ social life.

              “Oh! I, uh, am an American.”

              Michael raised his eyebrows.

              “Which you already figured out, right? But I brought it up to say that me and my mom and my stepdad moved into the neighborhood a couple of months after you guys did. I think Mrs. Samuelle said you were away on business. Which is why you have no idea who I am.”

              Likely. What he said was, “Chinese?”

              She blinked at him for a moment before she understood. “Yeah. Totally Chinese-American on my mom’s side with a hint of French-Canadian thrown in for fun from my dad.”

              Michael looked at her.

              “My jokes always go off better when I’m not so nervous.”

              He certainly hoped so.

              “Uh, well…” she twisted on her feet, “I guess since you’re here you don’t need  _ me _ anymore. I’ll, uh, go grab my coat and bag and stuff and go home. Hey! But I bet Mrs. Samuelle will be home soon.”

              There was a strong note of hope in her voice. It took Michael a moment to realize it was for him. He offered her another smile. “I’m sure.”

              She returned his smile tenfold, eyes disappearing into black lines on her face. Michael felt his stomach lurch.

              “Okay, cutie, gimme a hug before I go,” Flora said to Adam, still reclined against his father.

              The boy frowned. Michael could hear it in his voice when he whined, “I don’t want you to go.”

              He watched Flora make an exaggerated moue. “I know you don’t, cutie pertuttie—” Adam giggled. “—but your dad’s here and I have to go. I was going to leave when Mommy came home anyway, remember?”

              “It’s not the same.”

              Michael started to correct his son, but Flora was already speaking: “Sure it is, buddy. Your daddy’s just a lot more, uh, square than your mommy. But the same thing.” She smiled warmly at Adam, giving all her attention to the boy. “So you’re not going to give me a goodbye hug?”

              He seemed torn with indecision.

              “Adam…” All her hurt was in his son’s name.

              Michael jostled the boy in his arms. “Adam, how about we walk Flora home. Would that be okay?”

              “Yeah,” Flora agreed brightly. “You wanna walk me home like a big boy?”

              Still not sure, it seemed, he nodded.

              “Okay, but big boys have to put their coats and hats on before they take their babysitters  _ all the way home _ .”

              Adam squirmed and wriggled to get out of Michael’s arms. He dutifully set the boy down – who took off like a rocket.

              “Thank you,” Flora said softly before chasing after the boy.

              He was inclined to tell her not to thank him for walking her home, but rather the vision of all the women in his life – living and dead, personal and professional – leveling condemnation on him if he didn’t.

 

* * *

Michael looked down at his son, swinging Flora’s arm as far and fast as his four-year-old arm could take it. “What are you singing?” he asked the boy.

              “The International Friendship Song.”

              Flora caught Michael’s eye and mouthed, “Cartoon show. Don’t ask.”

              Ignoring her, he said, “And you sing it with a German accent?”

              “I think it’s Swedish, actually,” Adam said prosaically. 

              Shrugging as if to say  _ I told you so _ , Flora rejoined Adam at the chorus:  _“ Oh, du schöne. Oh, du schöne. Oh, du schöne, Schnitzelbank!”_

_ “Ist das nicht ein shiny light?” _ Adam sang, starting a new verse in his piping voice.

_ “Ja das ist ein shiny light,” _ Flora sang back.

_ “Ist das stars pre-tty tonight?” _

_              “Ja, das stars pre-tty tonight.” _

              Together they sang the new chorus,  _“Shiny light, pre-tty tonight. Oh, du schöne. Oh, du schöne. Oh, du schöne, Schnitzelbank!”_

              Adam started a new verse about the parked cars. Michael slowly, fondly, shook his head as Flora sang the answering lines.

              Soon they were standing at the end of her walk. Flora knelt before the boy. “Okay, short stuff, catch you tomorrow, right?”

              He threw his arms around her neck. “I want to go home with you!”

              “Oh,  _ mon chou _ … _ mais, tu papa d’ici. _ Don’t you want to spend time with him?”

              Adam shook his head with childish determination.

              Flora glanced up at Michael as if to apologize for his son’s lack of loyalty with one look. Turning back to Adam, she secured her arms around his tiny body and stood. “When was the last time you saw me, cutie?”

              He thought for a moment, then said, “This morning?”

              “From the living room window, right?”

              He nodded.

              Nodding with him she said, “Now when was the last time you saw your daddy?”

              After a lot more thinking – Adam’s scrunched up face made Michael smile – he shook his head. He couldn’t remember.

              “But it wasn’t so, so long ago, was it? You just can’t remember, right?”

              “Uh huh.”

              “Wanna know how long since I’ve seen  _ my _ daddy?”

              He nodded fervently. “How long, Flor?”

              “Five whole years.”

              Michael watched Adam’s eyes widen. “That’s longer than  _ I _ am.”

              Smiling sadly, though Michael didn’t think the boy noticed, Flora shifted him in her arms. “Yup,” she said, running a finger down his nose. “That is longer then you are old.”

              “Cause I’m only four.”

              “Four and a half,” Michael said softly.

              Flora colored. 

              Curious.

              “Exactly,” she said. “So if  _ my _ daddy showed up right now I would go and be with him right now, even though you know you’re my favorite cutie pertuttie ever!”

              “Right now?” 

              “ _ Maintenant _ , cutie. This second.”

              They stared at each other for a moment – then he tightened his arms around her neck and Flora hugged him back. Adam twisted in her arms and Michael took him.

              Jiggling his foot, Flora said, “I love you, cutie.”

              “Love you too, Flor. Will I see you tomorrow?”

              Brightening, she grinned and pushed her hair behind her ears. “On my way to school like always.” Turning her smile on Michael, she jammed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “Night, Mr. Samuelle. It was nice meeting you.”

              He sensed her discomfort but stuck his hand out anyway. “You, too, Flora,” he said, shaking her hand. She slipped her hand from his and went quickly up the walk.

* * *

They were sitting in the living room playing dinosaurs and astronauts when Michael heard Elena’s car pull into the drive. Mischief gleaming in his eyes, he said, “Let’s surprise Mommy.”

              An answering light shone in Adam’s eyes. “Yeah.”

              “Okay. Stay here and keep playing. Daddy’s going to hide.”

              “Can I hide, too?”

              “Next time, Adam. I need you to make Mommy think Flora is still here. Can you do that?”

              Adam considered and seemed to waver, then nodded sharply. He would do it.

              Michael kissed his forehead. “I’m right here,” he said, slipping into the unlit corridor that turned off from the main hall.

              Moments later the key turned in the lock. Michael heard the door open, then close and lock. “Flora? Adam? I’m home. Flora?

              “Oh, there you are!”

              Michael heard the change in her voice as she spotted Adam from the end of the hall. Her heels clicked on the hardwood.

              “Where’s Flo—!” Her high-pitched squeal turned into nervous laughter as she punched Michael’s chest. “You!”

              “Surprise.”

* * *

They had put Adam down to sleep not long after Elena had come home. He had chortled in delight when Daddy got Mommy, but about a half-hour later he was cranky and restless. Michael had wanted to get him ready for bed but Elena shooed him off. “It’ll be faster if I do it, and he’s tired.”

              When she was done, he had been ready to take care of  _ her _ .

* * *

It was about three in the morning and Elena was fast asleep. She was lying diagonally across the bed, tangled in the bed sheets. With the leather armchair facing the bed, Michael couldn’t see her for the glare of his laptop, but it kept the light from disturbing Elena’s rest.

              For a fifteen-year-old girl, Yuen San “Flora” Leung had a surprisingly detailed file. Under gentle questioning, Adam had disclosed that Flora often spoke French to him because Mommy wanted him “to keep up with it.” Now he understood why: Though her mother was in fact Chinese-American, her father was a Chinese ex-patriot who had passed himself off as Chinese and French-Canadian to the girl’s mother. The son of a corrupt Chinese businessman, he had been running from that life when he met Jun Chan. Six years later it had come back to haunt his child. Leung’s father had had his granddaughter kidnapped to force his son’s return to the fold.

              For four days, while Leung and his father negotiated, six-year-old Flora waited in an opulent hotel room, guarded by two men and one woman. On the fifth day Leung returned from China with his daughter.

              A month later Leung went back to China. No further incidents followed. Instead he made frequent, extended, trips to China on his father’s chartered jet. One such flight went down in the Sea of China. Leung was declared dead; his body was never found.

              Jun Leung remarried nearly four years later. Eventually her new husband’s job would relocate them to France two months after Michael had been relocated by Section.

              According to the most recent intel, Leung was now going under the name Peter Yuen and had moved his base of operations to Taiwan.

              Michael closed his laptop and let it sit warm on his thighs as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

* * *

Elena glanced over her shoulder from the sink. “Adam, it’s eight o’clock.”

              “Flor!” The boy scrambled out of his chair and dashed out of the kitchen.

              Raising his eyebrows, Michael met Elena’s eyes. Raising her own in return, she said, “Go look.”

              He wasn’t moving nearly as fast as his son was, but Michael had caught up by the time Adam was scrambling onto the couch. He hardly seemed to notice the company as he pushed himself closer to the window. 

              Taller, Michael sat on the couch beside him and wrapped an arm around the boy’s legs. 

              Adam spared him a glance. “ _ Papa! _ Look!” Before Michael could ask him what they were looking at, Adam was pointing and waving. 

              A trio of girls in dark coats and brightly colored cold weather accessories were walking past the house. 

              “Flor!”

              As if she could hear him, the girl nearest the house stopped and scanned the windows against the morning glare. Spotting Adam, she waved. He waved back. She kept waving.

              “Da-ddy! Wave!”

              Michael dutifully waved to the girl. Grinning, she gave them one last goodbye wave then ran to rejoin her friends.

              “I like Flor,” Adam said, sliding off the couch.

              Michael picked up his son and threw him over his shoulder. Adam squealed with delight.

              He liked Flora too.

Fin[ite]

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little weird writing trigger warnings for this story that I had previously listed as rated PG on my livejournal (although it probably should have been PG-13 at least). Fandom, how you change, sometimes for the better :)
> 
> Adam is wrong to imply that ["The International Friendship Song"](https://youtu.be/CIk4sC8ASS0) is Swiss. (Warning, this is the Animaniacs. It gets a teensy bit rude.) It is "a German-language ditty for children" called ["The Schnitzelbank Song"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schnitzelbank). When I wrote this in '06, I couldn't remember if Professor Otto von Schnitzelpusskrankengescheitmeyer was German or Swiss and didn't have fast and easy internet access to look it up. I also couldn't remember Prof. Otto's full name (thank you, Internet and Ctrl-C/V). I thought it was fitting, though, that he should wrong but wise about it. :)
> 
> I think the French is fairly self-explanatory, but just in case:  
>  _Papa_ \- Daddy/Dad  
>  _Maintenant_ \- Now  
>  _mon chou…mais, tu papa d’ici._ \- sweetie...but your daddy's right here. (literally "my cabbage..." which is (was?) a French term of endearment)


End file.
